


These Days They Get Away From Us (Every One Was Spent With You)

by sarcastic_fina



Category: Glee
Genre: F/M, future!fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-14
Updated: 2012-09-14
Packaged: 2017-11-14 05:05:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/511621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarcastic_fina/pseuds/sarcastic_fina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rachel and Puck enjoy their usual naked Saturday while she reflects on how amazing her life has turned out and the man that helped make it that way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	These Days They Get Away From Us (Every One Was Spent With You)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [layinthefire](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=layinthefire).



> [Picture](http://i48.tinypic.com/2j67rlh.gif) | NSFW, inspiration for this piece, prompted by [layinthefire](http://www.layinthefire.tumblr.com). Credit for pictures goes to [blindluxury](http://blindluxury.tumblr.com/post/16141304821).

These were her favorite days. The days when everything else just floated away, out of reach, ignored, put on the backburner.

There was a script that needed reading; or, well, _re_ -reading was more accurate. Rachel had already gone over it with highlighters and arrow-stickies to mark which parts jumped out, which needed re-writing, which she was excited to act out. She had a marker for each; purple for her favorites, pink for the attention-getting scenes, and blue for those that just didn't fit with the character or the story as she saw it in her head.

That script was tucked away in the drawer of her desk; in alphabetical order, of course. She kept two sets of files; roles she had already completed, fit with the original script and the revised edition that was actually produced. And a drawer full of roles she had on the books, waiting to be filled. There used to be a third filled with those she'd auditioned for but didn't get, but Noah took those out one day, tossed them in a garbage bin, and lit them on fire.

"It's a statement, babe. They weren't smart enough to take you, they don't get to be remembered," he told her.

Personally, she thought he just liked to set things on fire, as proved by the collection of bills and receipts he tossed in next because, quote, "Holy shit, look at 'em burn!"

Along with her abandoned scripts were Noah's unfinished songs. Unlike her, he didn't keep them tidy or in any kind of order. He had his own office, a wall filled with his first framed CD and the gold and platinum records that followed, and a desk that was covered in papers. Scribbled out lyrics, music notes, balled up sheet music, it was all kept on top of his desk in disarray. Rachel never touched that; in fact, she rarely looked at it, for fear his lack of organization might catch on. But mostly because he said it _was_ in order; that it was controlled chaos of his making so he knew where everything was and he put it there for a reason.

Rachel often reminded him that he left the milk out every morning and 'conveniently' forgot that, so how did he manage to keep his thoughts, scrawled on every available piece of paper, from getting lost under the continually growing pile?

"You got your ways, I got mine," he would remind her.

And really, after all their years together —nine in December, thank you very much—she couldn't actually say that he was wrong. Somehow, he managed to know where everything to do with his work was kept. If asked, he could generally find where he put that scrap of paper with that one lyrical line of genius he wrote six months ago was; under the left speaker with the throwing star he kept as a paper weight on top of it.

So while their respective work was put away, the door shut, and the phones turned off, she and Noah were allowed to have their Saturday all to themselves. She remembered being told, early in her twenties, when she and Noah were just starting out, she was fresh out of NYADA and he'd traveled to New York from California, guitar in tow, that the key to a relationship was having couple time. A designated day for dates; time specifically set aside completely dedicated to just each other.

Noah, being, well, _Puck_ , decided that meant one day out of the week he got to walk around the apartment butt naked, eat leftover pizza and take-out from sun-up to sun-down, and have sex on every available surface. Rachel, originally, thought they should work on their communication skills, partly because she'd been watching a lot of Dr. Phil in between going to auditions, but, well, Noah kind of nipped that in the bud early on…

"Rach, we communicate _awesome_ … You talk forever, I listen to everything except the stuff you've already said one or twice or _six_ fucking times… If you want something, _say it_." He shrugged. "I put the burglary shit behind me, but legit, if you asked for a million dollars right now, I'd break out the ski mask and see what I could do. Okay?"

And Rachel, because, well, she's _Rachel_ , thought that was just about the most romantic thing ever… Even if the ski mask was completely overrated and she had a few suggestions that might better suit a high scale robbery, since she might've considered the idea once or twice when she first looked at the cost of living in New York. And really, with her ballet skills, she would be an incredible cat burglar. She was light on her feet, making the avoidance of laser beams completely and realistically possible. Sure, she might've been basing the idea of bank security off of film portrayals, but she was fairly prepared for just about anything. An actress _must_ prepare for any and all outcomes to a situation and Rachel thought the role of bank robber, despite its many flaws, would need just as much dedication.

In any case, after hearing Noah's proclamation of his feelings, she decided their communication skills weren't as rusty as many others probably were and thus, she gave in and joined in the festivities. Besides, after being with him as long as she had, naked Saturdays were a welcome and refreshing add-on to regular life.

So it was no surprise to her that she was feeling relaxed and extremely thankful that Saturday had come back around. Noah's latest song was no longer driving him nuts as it was pushed to the back of his mind and her latest role would be waiting for her attention tomorrow.

"There's too many pillows," he complained, shoving a fist back against one.

Rachel dragged her eyes away from the episode of Sons of Anarchy they'd been watching; it was one of his favorite shows and he had a number of them queued up.

"There is not; it's a perfectly acceptable number," she argued. "Plus, they're pretty and they match the bedspread."

"Yeah, well, the bedspread's on the floor 'cause you kicked it there when I was eating you out… Why can't the pillows join it?"

"Considering my feet won't likely be near the pillows the next time your head is between my legs, I don't see it being a possibility," she said, tucking her arm behind her head, her fingers getting caught in a knot in her hair.

"Is that a challenge?" he asked, smirking at her.

Rachel rolled her eyes. "You're insatiable."

He snorted. "Babe, check a mirror." He turned onto his side, "Better yet, check me out…" He pointed at his neck where a number of hickeys were layering his skin. "They still kind of sting; you've got sharp teeth."

With a scoff, she snapped her teeth at him playfully. "Please, the caveman in this relationship is _you_. I'm starting to think my neck is permanently marked; people are beginning to wonder why I wear scarves everywhere."

He shrugged, smirking proudly. "Fashion statement." He slid a hand over her stomach, dipping his thumb in her bellybutton. "I think it's hot…" He moved his hand down lower, the calluses of his fingertips dragging over her leg.

She lifted her knee up and watched as his fingers slid around and drew circles as they descended over the sensitive flesh of her inner-thigh.

Noah raised his other hand up and held his head on it, elbow sinking into the mattress of their bed. "Bet you're still wet…"

She licked her lower lip before she bit it. "If I am it's because Jax Teller is a very attractive ma—" She trailed off on a gasp as his fingers rubbed down her slit and parted her folds. "N—Noah…"

"What were you saying?" he teased, his thumb moving up to circle her clit. "Should I be worried, babe?" He turned his hand and sunk just the tip of his middle finger inside her. "You kinda like me when I'm a little jealous though, right?" He leaned his head down and bit at the curve of her shoulder lightly, sinking his finger in wholly.

"Unh…" She arched up, spreading her legs further apart, her toes curling into the sheet.

His body pressed against her side; she could feel his cock lengthening against her hip. Her hand reached for him, knuckles dragging over his stomach before she curled her fingers around the base of his shaft. He twitched in her hand and she smiled reflexively. He added a second finger and her brow furrowed, mouth falling open.

She turned her head to see him; his eyes were set on his own fingers as they sunk into her, slow but deep. His jaw ticked as they came out, wetter and wetter each time. He rested his cheek against her shoulder, the short, blunt hairs of his shaved head tickled against her neck. It was times like these that she rather missed the mohawk; it often gave her something to grab onto, using it to direct him where she wanted. Though, by now, he knew her body nearly better than her, anticipating how to move, when and where, reading her cues before she could give voice to them.

Just like now.

He slid his fingers free, circled her clit a few times to get her incoherent, and then dragged them up her body, walking one after the other over her stomach and up, up, between her breasts. He paused, walked right and plucked at her nipple, used her own juices to make it wet and glistening, and when it was rosy red and pebbled nearly painfully tight, he sucked his fingers into his mouth before rolling up to his knees and crawling between her legs.

He spread her wide and kneaded her thighs gently, pressing his hands down close but not touching her pussy. Rachel buried her hands in the pillows behind her, gripping them tight as she watched him tease her. His mouth curved up in a smirk as he stared up at her from under the heavy line of his brow. His thumbs pressed against the seam of where her thighs met the lips of her sex; he rubbed up and down and spread her further apart.

When he ducked down, he paused, letting the heat of his breath linger over her, and then his tongue, just the tip, touched her clit, enough to make her hips arch forward desperately. He chuckled before sliding lower, tonguing apart her labia, sucking on them, teeth grazing lightly.

He laid nearly flat against the bed, his hip lifted up to accommodate his erection, and her knees were brought over his shoulders. His hands splayed out over her stomach, sliding up, rubbing at the ticklish skin of her ribs, rising until his fingers were outlining the curves of her breasts. He licked up and down the center of her pussy, suckling and drawing circles, avoiding her clit even as he got close enough that she was whimpering. His fingers rubbed her tits, mimicking the same in not quite touching her nipples, letting her want it, letting her wait.

Noah loved foreplay; sometimes she thought he liked doing it to her more than he liked having it done to him. Then again, when she had him inside her mouth and her fingers were cupping, kneading his balls, his fingers buried in her hair as he panted her name, his stomach rippling with control, she was fairly sure there was nothing in the world he would trade that feeling for.

When he made her come, it was blinding; for a second, everything was white and the air was sucked from her lungs. She could feel her body arched off the bed, every muscle stretched tight, her pussy pulsing, scrambling to grip something. And distantly, she could feel his tongue lapping at her, soaking her in. When she fell back to the bed, his fingers were still wrapped around her nipples, twisting them lightly, while his nose was pressed against her clit.

He let go and drew his mouth back, kissing her thigh and her stomach and either of her nipples before he licked a stripe up her neck and pressed his mouth to hers. She sucked herself from his lips, biting, her hands buried at the nape of his neck, nails scratching. They broke apart for breath and his hands slid around the back of her shoulders, squeezing, while he kissed down her face and her neck, his body resting in the cradle of hers, her legs loose around his waist.

He didn't complain about the pillows when they turned over and his head fell back against the fluffiest of them, he just shoved them so they were pressed to the headboard.

Rachel loved being on top, it was her favorite position most of the time. Although, there were a few memorable times where Noah, caring little about the papers on top of his desk, pressed her over it, shoved her skirt up her waist, and sunk inside of her from behind; occasionally, frenzied fucking was the best kind of relief. When she was younger, a naïve teenager really, she didn't understand the appeal. But having grown out of that fantasy and into the woman she was now, more knowledgeable and far more accepting of her sexual side, she liked the times when the passion grew to a point where there was no control, no planning, just clothes pushed out of the way enough that part A could fit into slot B. And Noah's parts really did make Rachel's parts _sing_.

She was considerate enough to return the favor even as what she really wanted to do was just sink down on top of him. She slid her mouth over the head of his cock and sucked, her tongue swirling in the salty pre-cum that collected. She watched with appreciative eyes as the muscles of his torso flexed in reaction.

Noah had a beautiful body. He preferred when she used words like 'hot' and 'sexy,' but Rachel liked to think of it more from an artist's point of view. His tanned skin that was so ridiculously smooth under her wandering hands. The wide set of his shoulders that bunched up when he was stressed and drooped when he was upset. The thick biceps of his arms that she liked to sink nails and teeth into at times like these while often using as her pillow and rubbing her nose against when they were out in the world or she was feeling affectionate. The glint of silver, a ring in his nipple, which she often tugged on with her teeth. The trail of coarse, dark hair that led down to where her mouth was now enveloping the whole of him, sinking far past where any regular woman would have trouble with their gag-reflex.

He gulped, watching her, his eyebrows hiked and his mouth set in a line as he breathed heavily. She hummed one of her favorite notes, long and deep, her throat vibrating around him.

"Fuck, Rachel…" His eyes shut tight and he threw his head back.

She smiled around him; he never got used to that.

She slid her mouth back up and circled him with both her hands, twisting in opposite directions, thumbs rubbing up the underside of his now wet, thick, warm shaft. She sucked the head, her tongue flicking, until she could see him losing control, and then she let go and sat back, probably looking entirely too innocent given she was naked, she had very obvious sex hair, and she'd just had his mouth on her _minutes_ ago. But she clasped her hands in her lap and watched as he struggled not to come, his neck stretched tight, cock twitching, and his lips moving to the lyrics of Sweet Caroline; he often did, focusing on chords or lyrics until he wasn't on the verge of climax.

When his body relaxed a little and his lips stopped moving, just his heavy breath panting through his nose, she climbed up him, settling herself on his stomach, her legs spread.

"Fuck, you're wet," he muttered, his hands falling, thumbs parting her and pinching her throbbing clit, making her grunt, before they moved away, circling her thighs and squeezing.

"Have I ever mentioned how talented your tongue is?" She grinned at him. "It might deserve an award of its own."

"I don't think they give shit out for that…" He slid his hands around to grip her ass, kneading her cheeks.

"I could have one made," she mused, rising up to her knees as he guided her back, his hand sliding between them and directing his cock. "What do you think? A plaque or a trophy?"

He shook his head, amused, and pressed up with his heels dug into the mattress, entering her in one quick, deep thrust.

Her head fell back, eyes closed. "Trophy, trophy, you get a trophy…"

He let out a choked laugh and she stirred her hips. His fingers pressed against her almost painfully. She dropped a hand to his chest and leaned down, not moving, and brought her face to his.

Swallowing, he met her eyes. "Hey."

She smiled widely. "Hi."

Slowly, his grip loosened, and he reached up, tucking her hair behind her ear. "Is it too early to rank this in our top five Saturdays?"

She giggled, shook her head, and kissed him. "I love you," she murmured, nipping at his bottom lip.

"You should…" He smirked against her mouth as she sighed exasperatedly at him. "Hey, I totally blew off a number one hit for you," he teased. "Seriously, babe, this one's gold."

"All of your songs are gold," she argued, and rocked her hips down.

He muttered under his breath, much of which was swear words that, after all this time, Rachel had taken less offense to and now, more or less, felt flattered by. It was a form of expression, she'd long ago decided. It was his way of saying she made him lose control; that he was just as passionate about her as she was him. Though, really, she didn't need the words.

Noah had been showing her how much he cared for as long as she could remember. Even before they started their relationship anew in New York, back during the last years of high school, when she gave it a critical look with fresh eyes, she realized that he'd been becoming a better man and he'd often said or done things that let her know he cared. Maybe it wasn't a full-fledged feeling yet, but there was a foundation for more. Alas, timing was everything. And now, she couldn't say that she regretted it, even if it might've been easier and better for them to have found each other, on the right plain, when they were still both at McKinley. It certainly would've saved them some heartbreak.

But when Rachel really thought about it, she knew that the girl she was in high school was not the same woman that Noah met when he climbed off a bus from California, still wearing board shorts, smelling of salt water, and a little sunburned. She'd grown and adapted to her environment. She'd found herself at NYADA, though it had by no means been easy or any less filled with trials and tribulations. The caterpillar had exited the cocoon a butterfly though, metamorphosis bringing about a woman who was more determined, stronger, and far more skilled. She could hold her head high and not worry about others opinions; she knew that she was talented, that she had given it her all, that she was destined for greatness.

Lima was just a stop in the rearview mirror; it held a few good memories like the few highlights of Glee, her beloved parents, and a couple friendships that would last the ages. It even held a special spot designed for her first loves, Jesse and Finn respectively. But it was the past, it was her history, and she left it there, moving on to bigger and greater things.

When Noah arrived, she was on her sixteenth failed audition and she was by no means defeated. There were nights she spent crying into her soy ice cream and drinking pink champagne as she sobbed to Kurt about how much she sucked or they didn't like her or that Barbra Streisand was a lying liar. But the next morning, she would get up, do her usual over-the-top routine, and greet the day with an even bigger smile, eager to find that breakout role.

Noah camped out on Kurt's couch the first month; where he was, surprisingly, a wonderful house guest in Kurt's opinion. In that time, Rachel was able to spend a lot of time with him, in between auditions and thanks in part to relaying her troubles to Kurt. So Noah became a much-needed and appreciated friend once more. Until he got up and sang at a karaoke bar one night. Her heart went fluttering again just like it did when he first sang Sweet Caroline to her and she couldn't keep the smile from splitting her face.

Kurt nudged her shoulder knowingly and then told her, quite frankly, "You need to get on that."

It would be a week before Rachel decided it was better to risk the friendship they'd rebuilt over coffee dates and making him run lines with her, than to never know if they were meant for something more. She was halfway through her pitch, saying, "I was wondering if maybe we could try going out for dinner in a more date-like setting, exploring—" when he buried a hand in her hair, dragged her in, and kissed her until her knees were weak.

"Thank fuck! What the hell'd you need? A damn smoke signal?" He laughed at her confused face. "Rach, I've been panting after you like Finn over a grilled cheese sandwich since like, sophomore year!" His eyes widened.

"Wonderful, then we're on the same page." She gripped his shirt and pulled him down, adding, "You kiss the same…" She breathed out shakily. "You were always my favorite kiss."

It was really no surprise that they ended up in bed before the first date; Rachel thought she had remarkable control until his fingers slid up her skirt and traced the seam of her underwear, and then it was like they melted away before they were using Kurt's couch for things she would never, _ever_ tell him it was used for.

Their relationship progressed quite nicely, if she did say so herself. They fought, naturally; they were both big personalities and stubborn to a fault. But in the end, Rachel knew that Noah was it for her. She'd never felt more in sync with someone, like they understood, accepted, and even loved her for her moods and her occasional insane outburst and her overwhelming passion for all things Broadway.

He picked her up after every failed audition and celebrated with her when she got a role. He was in the first row, with pink roses, for every opening night, even to that awful play she did that was absolutely the worst thing she'd ever read or acted in. And, though he wasn't sure he liked the play, he still clapped, albeit uncertainly, to show his support. Even as the rest of the audience, all thirteen people, booed and threw things. That was a terrible experience that, quite frankly, she never wanted to (and never did) repeat. Getting roles that better fit her and that she was proud to take, she eventually found her footing and made her way from stage to stage until she was finally getting the recognition she deserved and taking Broadway by storm.

When they were both twenty-five, and had been dating nearly four years, Noah proposed. Much to his mother's and her fathers' approval, they were married a year later in a traditional Jewish ceremony. Shortly after, his career skyrocketed, one of his songs hitting YouTube and then Tumblr and then Twitter. He became a household name and his CD was flying off the shelves; success looked wonderful on him.

Noah had long become that person in her life that she couldn't imagine spending any milestone, big or small, without. He was the greatest passion of her life, even eclipsing, in some ways, the love she held for stage. Because on a bad day, on her worst day even, she knew that she could come home and crawl into his arms and he would always relight that fire, never once doubting in her in any capacity.

So it was with some reticence that they began discussing children. It wasn't that Rachel didn't _want_ to have kids, she _did_. And now that their careers were in a strong, solid place, she knew it was a good time. But it was these days, these Saturdays that were all them, that gave her pause. Call her selfish, but she wasn't sure she wanted to share him just yet, even if it was with a child partly of her making.

They had time; they had _plenty_ of time for babies and diapers and the beauty of motherhood. But for right now, in this moment and for the next foreseeable few Saturdays, all she wanted was him.

She used the hand on his chest as an anchor as she moved herself up and down, pressing her hips forward, letting him sink entirely inside her, the length and girth of him filling every single inch. Her nails dug into his skin as she felt that building sensation flaring up, burning her skin, making sweat collect and her thighs tighten.

Noah didn't know how not to be an active participant. Even as he was lying beneath her and she was willing to take full control and fuck him as slowly or as quickly as she pleased, he had to be touching her, encouraging her, his hands moving or gripping. His cheek, half raspy with a day's worth of blunt whiskers, glistened with sweat and she paused to lick it before her mouth covered his. Their teeth gnashed together briefly before she slowed it down, slowed everything down.

His hands unfurled, light against her hips. His fingers reached to press against the curves of her ass as she pushed forward. His thumb dug briefly into her hip with each movement before releasing as she drew back, smoothing over her skin. She could feel the metal of his rings; his wedding band on his left hand, and the silver ring on his right forefinger, a present Shannon Beiste had given him when he put out his first CD. _You show 'em, punkin_ , the inscription read. He never took it off and cited her in the acknowledgements as one of the driving forces behind who he was today and why he pursued his dream.

Her heart thumped in her chest at the amount of love he had in him. It never failed to make her emotional. That she found this man again; that he was this incredibly good person who had done so many wonderful things. From throwing charity benefits and using his music to gain attention to giving back to Lima by gifting McKinley with money for both the Glee club and the football team to walking with Kurt in the Pride parade and speaking out in support of equality rights when attention turned his way as his career began to soar.

He wasn't, and hadn't been for a long time, the bully she'd once known, once cringed away from, once feared would drench her in frozen, colored ice. This was a man who had grown to become someone incredible; someone she was proud to be with and love; someone she was thankful, every day, loved her back.

She was panting against his mouth, her hips moving quicker now, and she bit sharply at his lips. He took his cue and snapped his hips up, meeting her and filling that coiling heat inside of her. He slid his hands from her hips and between them, covering her breasts, squeezing, rolling her nipples between his fingers. She stopped moving, holding herself still as he pistoned up into her, and sunk her own fingers down to rub at her clit furiously.

Their mouths were still pressed together, lips parted, panting breath meeting in the middle, until finally she cried out, his name leaving her on a cracked whimper, and she came, squeezing and fluttering all around him. He kept moving, thrusting into her three more times until she felt him release, cursing against her mouth, his hands sliding down to grip her ass. He kept jerking up reflexively before finally he fell back to the bed and she collapsed on top of him.

She ducked her head down and kissed his shoulder before she laid her cheek flat against quickly rising and falling chest, listening to his fast-beating heart beneath. He was sweaty and sticky and she could feel her skin getting stuck to his, but she smoothed her hands down his sides and hummed in content. His fingers slid up, tracing her back, and brushed through her knotted, sweaty hair, pulling it up and off her neck thoughtfully.

She smiled. "You're a softie…" she murmured.

"Don't ruin my rep," he grunted, before dropping his hands to massage her shoulders.

She groaned appreciatively and stretched her back. "Oh, I'm never letting you go… We'll stay in bed forever, just like this…"

"I don't wanna ruin the dream, but you got rehearsals tomorrow and I've gotta finish up my second CD like _pronto_ … People are sending hate mail; they kinda scare the shit outta me."

She snorted. "Passion is scary, Noah. They love you so much they can't stand the idea of not having something new of yours to enjoy." With a sigh, she rolled herself off of him and sprawled by his side, tucking an arm under her head to hold her up as she turned to look at him. "You're kind of addictive."

He grinned at her. "It's mutual." He slid his arm around her. "Even if you won't have my badass babies."

She rolled her eyes. "No- _ah_ …" She slapped his stomach.

"I'm just sayin'…" He shrugged. "Our kids would be seriously awesome!"

"They would." She paused and nodded. "They _will_. I just…" She pursed her lips and reached over to draw circles on his ribs. "I like things how we are. I like _us_ , just me and you and… naked Saturdays."

He nodded. "Me too." He kissed the top of her head, nuzzling her hair, and she smiled, looking up at him. "Eventually though, right?"

"Absolutely." She snuggled in closer and slid her leg over him. "It will be my honor and privilege to bear and raise your badass children, Noah Puckerman."

He laughed, low in his throat, and as it trailed off, he slid a hand over her stomach. "It scares me too, y'know?" he said, seriously. "Only baby I ever had I had to give her up… _twice_." He swallowed tightly. "And I know Shelby still sends pictures and updates, but it's not the same… I screwed that up. But me and you?"

She turned her head up to meet his sincere face.

"Rachel, you're the best thing I've ever had in my life. And yeah, that tops platinum records and fame and fucking paparazzi, _all_ that shit…" He stared at her searchingly. "You and me, we are top grade, okay? You're always going to be my number one…"

She blinked back the sting of tears and he cupped her cheek knowingly.

"This baby, it's just… It's just me and you on another level, right? It's just another, I dunno, a piece in this crazy puzzle we made… I'm not saying it'll make us complete because I already feel like, even without having kids, I'd be totally happy, the rest of my life, just with you… I just think that a kid that's half me and half you, that's amazing. That's…" He shook his head. "It's like I love them and they're not even here and I want it… I want to hold them and know that we made that. We made this awesome little person that is going to have a better life than we ever had. They're going to grow up loved and respected and nobody is ever going to tear them down…" He clenched his teeth. "You know?"

She stroked her hand over his face and nodded. "They will. He or she or however they identify, they are going to be the most amazing person, Noah… And I want to have that baby with you, I _really_ do…" She held up a hand, her thumb and forefinger an inch apart. "I just want a _little_ more time to be Rachel and Noah, before we become mommy and daddy."

"Okay." He nodded, ducking his head to kiss her. "But just FYI, you're gonna be a kickass mom."

She laughed against his lips. "Of course I will…" She raised her chin and declared. "It will be the best, most significant, hardest _,_ most _worthy_ role of my life."

Rachel wasn't wrong; two years later, their daughter Samantha greeted the world, screaming as loudly as Rachel's highest note. She laughingly looked at Noah and his wide eyes and asked him, "Well, was it worth it?"

He laid beside her, his head on her shoulder, and looked at their red-faced, squalling baby girl. "All of it."

Thinking of her early years, the bullying, the sacrifices, the heartbreak, the certainty that Finn would be her forever, the understanding that he wasn't, NYADA, failed audition after failed audition, every hardship, every tear, every second leading up to this moment. Every year she spent happy and content and dreaming with Noah. Every day she woke up next to him, every time he pressed a hand to her rounded stomach or sang to their baby while she was still was still growing inside her, every day, good, bad, and in-between…

It was all worth it.

The Puckerman family puzzle added one more piece and she was everything they could ever ask for.

[ **End.** ]


End file.
